


Found

by cyborgwookie



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Hobbit, LOTR, Pre-The Hobbit, Prequel, Slave thorin, Slavery, Tolkien, slave fili, slave kili
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-11-28 12:56:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 20,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18208613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyborgwookie/pseuds/cyborgwookie
Summary: A prequel of what could have happened before the events of An Unexpected Journey. The poor, poor Durin men.





	1. Foreword

All named characters are owned by the Tolkien estate, the following is a non-canonical work of fiction, and does not profit me financially.

First of all, to anyone reading, thank you! I wrote this entirely for myself. It is a finished work that has lived in my computer all alone for several years. I came across it while doing computer housekeeping and decided to share. I will be proofreading the chapters before I post them and will try to upload at the very least every two days. The events of this story occur while the dwarves are in exile. To steal something from somewhere, I hate to hurt the characters, but they hurt so beautifully. With that out of the way, *deep breath* into the breach!

 

Flames surrounded them as they ran. Flames that were eerily similar to those in memories which had barely begun to fade.

The three remaining sons of Durin ran. Though they were not pursued by a dragon, the fear in their hearts was very real.

Though he had failed them once before, perhaps the king of the Woodland Realm might reconsider offering shelter, or at the very least give a cold shoulder of indifference.

Close at their backs hunting dogs snarled and snapped in a mad chase.

The unfortunate dwarven trio had stumbled across the wrong encampment, and now had a choice: run for freedom, or surrender to the mercy of the men that hunted them.

The edges of the forest danced with the flames that the men had set in hopes of stopping the headfirst dive towards the nearest shelter.

They were in Thranduil's domain now, Mahal help them.

Perhaps, just maybe, the cold elf king would find these wildlings more reprehensible than dwarves…

Tripping and careening through the underbrush, the hunted soon became entangled and the pursuing dogs caught up.

They were surrounded by the rabid growling mayhem and had begun to cry for help when the sound of an elvish horn could be heard piercing the night.

Just as the men chasing them arrived, elves swung down from the dark trees above, daring them to enter the realm of the Elven King any further.

The leader of the men was clearly not expecting this, but he quickly recovered, calling out over the pleas of Durin's heirs with great joviality.

"Ho! Look who has joined us on this merry chase! Welcome my good elves! We would not tread upon your hospitality, but we thought we might be of service to you."

He gestured towards the struggling dwarves.

Elven eyes narrowed as the captain of the royal patrol appraised the situation. Everyone knew the king's opinion of dwarves, and the captain would rather fix the problem now. Glancing from the dwarves back to the man he spoke:

"Who are you to trespass the domain of the forests of Mirkwood?

I would not think the great king of Taur-nu-Fuin would suffer the likes of you in his forest.

Is it you then, who have seen fit to set the wood ablaze for your sport?"

As he spoke the leader of the hunting party took a step back, wishing the venture had not attracted such notice.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, he threw out his only defense,

"I am sorry for the…inconvenience my men and I may have caused, but we were only trying to do you a service.

These which we pursue to your borders are not merely dwarves, but the would-be lords of the Lonely Mountain."

He gestured towards Thorin and his nephews. The elf captain visibly recoiled, quickly recovering to offer a smug smirk.

The next words he spoke dashed the dwarves' hopes at sanctuary to pieces.

"I would not fault you for hunting vermin, though I must disagree with your methods,"

he paused to gesture at the now smoldering trees which bordered the forest.

"But for your services, it will be overlooked this time. Take your stumped gargoyles and begone. The king thanks you for your services."

As the elves watched in disgust, the dwarves were quickly seized by the hunting party and dragged away into the night, screaming promises of revenge in both Common and Khuzdul.


	2. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first true chapter, in which we find Thorin suffering in woeful seclusion.

All named characters are owned by the Tolkien estate, the following is a non-canonical work of fiction, and does not profit me financially.

With a start he awoke, shaking his head as the twisted nightmare slipped from his mind. The dream was a lie, but - Fili, Kili they are still gone. Thorin groggily reached up to scrub the sleep from his eyes, but his hands would not obey him. It took him a moment, but when he realized he was kneeling and his hands were still bound to a post, he was not surprised. Many a night the smith that owned him would become angry over some small trespass or other, and Thorin would wind up lashed to a post in the metalworker's shop at the business end of a whip or belt. Flexing his hands to send blood back to his fingers, he rolled his aching shoulders. The master had not gone easy last night, and he was not looking forward to slaving over the hot forge with a still-bloody back. Thorin had learned many masters ago that welts only multiplied, and catching any attention was undesirable, which was hard to do as one of the only dwarves in Archet. He started as the door to the forges nearly crashed open and a very hungover blacksmith staggered in. Seemingly blind to the dwarf who was trying to disappear, he roared "Why aren't my forges lit! Where is that no-good scum?" His eyes swept the shop before settling on Thorin, "My shop is in shambles because of you," he ground out, lurching towards the slave, "If you would behave we wouldn't have to go through this, and I might actually get something DONE around here!" The unhappy smith roughly untied him and shoved him towards the dead fires with a strong cuff to the head, tossing him a crust of bread that had probably been good a week ago, though it was the first food Thorin had seen in a few days. "I have customers to see. When I get back, work had better be done." With this warning, the master grabbed some finished wares and left the shop as clamorously as he had entered.  
With his master gone and a nearly impossible task ahead of him, Thorin sighed wearily. It wasn't always like this, he had once been royalty, yet now he was reduced to a cringing slave. Stiffly, he set about tidying up shop, knowing that with the smith there was no such thing as an idle threat. Once he would have scoffed at any man who claimed to be his master, he would have tossed his head majestically and with a gaze dared anyone to try to tame him. But that was another lifetime, he had been another dwarf. Even after the death of his father and brother he had fought, even after losing his sister in the wilds he still - Dis… abruptly pausing his frantic work Thorin forced back a sob that threatened to be the start of a downpour. Dis I'm so sorry… I tried, promised to protect them but your faith in me was for naught. Your sons are dead. Straightening quickly, he bit his lip and continued clearing the last of the clutter that was strewn about. He had failed his sister-sons, he had failed his fathers, he had no right to let his mind dwell on a life that was no longer his. As he lit the fires of the forges, Thorin chided himself fiercely. You deserve everything that is happening to you Oakenshield. You could not do what you were meant, and now fate has given you a life you have earned.


	3. The Shop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The blacksmith is a jerk and Thorin is sad.

All named characters are owned by the Tolkien estate, the following is a non-canonical work of fiction, and does not profit me financially.

The smith returned to the shop later in the evening than normal, and just as drunk as he always was. Hard at work in the growing darkness, Thorin jumped in spite of himself. He struck the hammer harder (if possible) against the red-hot steel, hoping that the sounds of a dwarf hard at work would pacify the ill-tempered man. Though ill-tempered hardly seem to fit this evening, for his master had received much praise, as the drunk man haziy informed him.   
The handiwork of the smith had grown in reputability, and though Thorin had completed every commission since his arrival, there were very few in town who would have given him credit.   
Not that they would recognize true quality. Thorin inwardly scoffed.  
The smith had done so little work since the purchase of the dwarf that it was very likely he believed his own skills had improved; though he had yet to lift more than an angry fist against his slave. It was due to this last fact that the next words from his master surprised him. "Close up shop," came the slurred command, "got a job tomorrow." Hastily, Thorin began to do as he was bid. As he scurried about (as much as a dwarf that is beaten, starved, and tired can scurry) the man blearily rambled on and Thorin pieced together that the smith had accepted a job in nearby Bree-proper. Thorin worked as quickly as he could, tripping over his own feet many times in his haste, but there was no pleasing the surly drunk man who watched his process with disapproving eyes from the workbench.   
"Come. Now," the smith ground out, pointing to the ground at his feet. Wearily, Thorin returned the last hammer to its hook and trudged over to the place he was directed. For a moment, the man seemed to forget why he had summoned Thorin, but then he rolled to his feet (though a bit unsteadily) and lurched forward. Though he had told himself he would not, Thorin flinched, enough that it was noticed by his master, who let out a bark of laughter. Grabbing the worn collar of the dwarf's tattered tunic, the man half-drug him to the post in the shop with which he was by now well-acquainted. But rather than the rope he had grown to expect, his master produced chains, with which he fastened Thorin securely. For his slight hesitance, several lashes of a belt rained down upon his shoulders, but the smith was in a good mood, and was satisfied his slave had been adequately chastised when a particularly cruel hit had Thorin gasping for air. Wheeling away, the smith left as abruptly as he always did.  
The chains were a new touch. Thorin squinted at them in the dark. They felt familia- oh. He had wrought these himself. They had been part of an order for a farmer, at least that is what he had been told. A pained smile crossed his face. Held in chains of your own making, Oakenshield. Though he knew it was futile, he gave them a compulsory rattle. Even if he had a mind, there would be no escaping from the masterfully crafted bindings. He was quite likely the most carefully secured piece of property for miles. Giving up on being comfortable for the night, he rested his bruised shoulder against the post, resigning himself to a fitful sleep, his only companions the chains he himself had worked, each link a harsh reminder of his failure. And in the bleak darkness of the smithy, Thorin allowed himself to weep bitter tears.  
Morning came too soon, as it did every day. At least today, the smith was semi-sober. Thorin watched the man uncharacteristically pacing about the forges gathering supplies and random bits and pieces. There seemed to be no method to the craftsman's madness, and he had forgotten a few tools most would consider absolute necessities, but Thorin was not about to voice this observation. When he was convinced he had gathered the necessary tools, the smith straightened from the cart he had been packing and headed over to his slave. Thorin jerked his head back down, he had been caught looking.  
"Nosy, aren't we?" sneered the smith, delivering a solid kick to the dwarf's ribs. "Keep your eyes where they belong, cur." He reached out and unlocked the chains from the post, hauling Thorin up and towards the wagon. Caught off-guard, and still reeling from the particularly brutal kick, Thorin blinked in surprise when he realized he was now chained to the back of the wagon. Seeing the slave's confusion, the smith's lips curled in a cruel smirk.  
"I'm not about to leave a dwarf alone in my shop." Thorin's stomach growled in response, evoking a quick scowl from his master, as well as a harsh backhand to his face. "For your complaints you can forget food today," the irritable man stalked away to complete his tasks, and Thorin did his best to hide his look of sorrowful disappointment. More to himself than to anyone in particular the smith mumbled something about dwarves not needing to eat, and being lied to by slave-mongers about the constitution of the dwarrow-people. Thorin hid a small sigh, gloomily anticipating a hungry and cold trek to Bree.


	4. A Reluctant Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin arrives in Bree, and it can't really be Tolkien related without a birthday party

All named characters are owned by the Tolkien estate, the following is a non-canonical work of fiction, and does not profit me financially.

The whip cracked, and a red hot stripe blazed across Thorin's back, tearing at his skin and what remained of his tunic.   
"Keep up or you will haul the cart!" The smith roared at him again. Progress had been slow. They had started the march to Bree-town in the morning, foul weather had soon accosted them, and though both Thorin and the cart horse could be described as hardy, the January storms of Bree were nothing to be scoffed at.  
Slipping in the muddy wagon tracks behind the cart, Thorin arched his back and gritted his teeth at the sting of the whip. Night would soon fall and the smith, frustrated at the slow progress of their small party, had been taking it out on his dwarf slave most of the day. Thorin knew that he had already been in poor shape, but after the constant beating he was taking, not to mention being splattered head to toe in the mud from the wagon wheels directly in front of him, he knew he must be a sight. The rain was turning to sleet, and night was falling when the welcome sight of the gates of Bree came into view. After the smith exchanged a customary greeting with the grizzled old gatekeeper, they trudged into the square and towards the livery. Tired and in a sullen mood, the smith nearly led the cart into an old man in a grey pointy hat. Muttering his half-hearted apologies and probably insulting the grey man, the smith jerked the cart to the side, yanking the horse, the cart, and Thorin ungracefully forward. The old man seemed to pause for a moment, taking in the sight of the bedraggled party, but then he shook his head, seeing only muddied wares, and another unfortunate slave of men and passed on into the night.  
In the livery, the hostler boarded the horse and cart, but apologetically explained to the smith that slaves could not be boarded with the livestock, and that he could inquire about putting up his dwarf in the slave quarters within the inn. Growing more irritated by the moment, the agitated smith finally threw some coins at the stable keeper and yanked Thorin back out into the inclement weather. Thorin shuddered in the cold, and his master laughed cruelly.   
"I'm not spending money to have you mollycoddled by some innkeeper." He looked down his nose with disdain, "You can stay here with the rest of the beasts." The man harshly shoved Thorin to the ground and wound the ever-present chains to the hitching rail below the sign for the Prancing Pony. With a taunting pat on the head, Thorin was left alone outside to shiver in the cold as the snow began to fall.

~

While the dwarf was suffering the harsh weather without, there was another within who suffered (he believed) greatly as well. Bilbo Baggins huffed testily and tried to ignore the endless prattle from his cousin Adalgrim, who had somehow convinced him away from his armchair in his safe Hobbit-hole to this grimy place that called itself a respectable establishment. He sighed as he watched his Took cousin dragging their poor friend Hamfast, who probably regretted this adventure more than Bilbo - if that was possible - to the bar for another order of cider. After exchanging pleasantries with most of the people near the bar, his companions made it back to the table, Adalgrim with an exaggerated giggle and nod to a new friend, and Hamfast with a ragged sigh. Before Bilbo could suggest they retire to the quiet(er) comfort of their hobbit-sized rooms, Adalgrim cried "I've found the perfect thing for my birthday, Bilbo!" as he wildly gesticulated towards one of the more unsavory groups that had begrudgingly acknowledged his overly cheerful greeting. "I've explained that it is your birthday, and they want to teach you a game!"   
Bilbo paled visibly. "You did what?!" he hissed in horror, out of the corner of his eye already seeing several of the aforementioned men coming over to join them. Adalgrim just managed to look Tookishly pleased with himself, while Hamfast made a study of his fingernails and looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here.   
Thirty minutes later, a much poorer Bilbo Baggins woefully watched as the men from Bree conspiratorially elbowed each other. He was not good at these games of chance, he decided. The two men he was playing with were only too happy to watch the Hobbit lose, and as he had proven a worse and worse player, they had begun to taunt him. One of the men in particular grated on his nerves, and it was this man who proposed the last wager.   
"So, hobbit," he rattled the dice by his ear, "I'm feeling generous, and it is your birthday. I'll offer double this time." Before Bilbo could politely decline and explain that it was not his birthday and it was his friend's birthday, Adalgrim shouted affirmatively for him. Though this time, the roll of the dice was in Bilbo's favor. Having made his money back, he rose to retire for the evening, but the man was easily angered and did not want to end his night by losing money to a hobbit.   
He rose in his chair "I insist Master Hobbit." He growled. At this, most of the pub directed their attention to the game, and bets were placed on the eventual outcome. Even Adalgrim was scared of this man, and the three hobbits huddled together opposite Bilbo's irate opponent.   
"B-but what are you wagering with, sir?" Bilbo shakily queried. The Man scowled and fished through his pockets before slamming a key on the tabletop.   
"Oi! What's this?" Adalgrim quickly contested. The man confidently leaned back in his chair. He answered pompously:  
"My creature is tethered outside. I wager him against your funds."   
All Bilbo could do was nod, refusal was no longer an option, and their audience was growing more and more agitated. With bated breath, the entire tavern leaned in close as the man shook the dice for the last time. Bilbo's eyes were screwed shut, "If I get out of this I am never leaving Bag-end again!" he promised himself. From somewhere far away he heard Hamfast exhale in relief. His normally quiet friend cried out "It's over! Master Bilbo has won the toss!"   
Bilbo's eyes popped open just as total chaos erupted. The patrons of the prancing pony who had placed wagers against each other over the match were quick to turn against each other, and chairs and tables began to fly as readily as curses and fists. Bilbo would have stayed where he was, startled into stone, but his companions each grabbed his arms and began dodging and weaving towards the sanctuary of the halls and their rooms. They were very nearly there when Bilbo found himself hoisted up into the air, and face to face with his previous adversary.   
"You cheated!" The man shouted, face red with alcohol and excitement. Bilbo panicked, and he realized that in a daze he had managed to grasp most of his winnings before attempting to flee. Though later he would kick himself (but mostly Adalgrim), Bilbo panicked. He flung the money as far from himself as he could, and as the pennies and silvers rained down, an entirely new fervor was added to the frenzy.   
"THAT MONEY IS MINE!" roared his attacker, dropping Bilbo in an undignified pile of hobbit and sprinting into a fistfight. Bilbo scrambled madly in his attempt to reach his companions. Finally rounding the corner of the common area, he ran headlong into Hamfast and Adalgrim, the former worriedly scolding his impulsive friend for causing Bilbo's likely demise. Upon Bilbo's arrival, however, the generally reserved hobbit nearly burst into tears.   
"Master Baggins, you're alive! Quick! Let's get to someplace safer." And the hobbits sped as quietly as they could down the dark halls, relaxing only when they had closed and barricaded the door in their room. Not bothering to undress in case a hasty escape was necessary, the hobbits warily climbed into their beds to wait out the night.  
Eventually nodding off, Bilbo rolled to his side and was nearly stabbed in the stomach by something in his pocket.   
"Oh bother my pockets and always forgetting to empty them!" Sleepily sitting up, he pulled a key from his waistcoat. Setting it atop the nightstand, he groaned wearily. I suppose this is what I get for agreeing to go out for a Took birthday party. Bilbo decided to deal with this problem in the morning. He couldn't let any creature stay with such a cruel man in good conscience. He would sell the poor pony and go home.


	5. An Eventful Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo collects his... pony?

All named characters are owned by the Tolkien estate, the following is a non-canonical work of fiction, and does not profit me financially.

Bilbo woke grumpily as Hamfast shook him awake. Though he had fought sleep in favor of fearful wakefulness, the hobbit had eventually drifted into a deep slumber. The room was warm and the three hobbits had burrowed deeply into the inn's scratchy but warm bedding. Grudgingly, he emerged from his blanket cocoon. Though he wanted to sleep in, it would be best if they left town before people from last night remembered there were hobbits involved. Hurriedly packing the few things he had brought, Bilbo absentmindedly swiped the key from the bedside table back into his pocket. He would make quick work of the creature outside and begin the three-day walk home as quickly as possible, while the weather was still fair.  
It was still the dark before the dawn when the short trio cautiously emerged from their room at the inn. Tiptoeing down the dark empty halls, they slipped out the side door of the establishment, evading all notice as everyone in the inn was apparently still abed. Stepping out into the freshly fallen snow, they crunched softly towards the front of the inn to retrieve what remained of Bilbo's winnings from the previous night. As they rounded the building, the sight that greeted them was less than pleasant. An official-looking man was speaking with the owner of the tavern, seemingly in hot debate over what to do with a shaking snowy lump of something that was attached to a hitching post at the front of the Prancing Pony. Bilbo considered turning and leaving them to sort this out, but something stopped him, and at that moment the men looked up and it was too late to run. Bilbo put on his best business face, calmly approaching as he smoothed down his coat with both hands.  
"Good morning gentlemen! I was just wondering where my pony might be!" When both of the men shared a confused glance, Bilbo nervously rambled on, "You see, I won him last night. I wouldn't normally be involved in such wagers, but," he fished through his pockets where IS the confounded thing, "Aha!" he cried in relief. "See! I have the key here!" The innkeeper and the official traded another confused look before the second man addressed Bilbo.  
"I'm not quite sure what you were expecting, master hobbit, but if you consider this a pony, then the Shire is a much different place than I have been lead to believe." Stepping back, he gestured to the chained figure and Bilbo sharply inhaled.  
"A dwarf!?" he squeaked, wringing his hands nervously, "He didn't say anything about a dwarf!" He peered at the shivering dwarrow, taking in the sorry state of his hair and clothes and - was that blood? The creature stirred, and lifted his head a fraction, startling Bilbo enough to step back. The officer, seeing Bilbo's surprised confusion, and wanting to resolve the problem as quickly as possible offered a solution.  
"His master is a troublemaker, and there's a good many townspeople, Mr. Butterbur here included, that are going to hold him responsible to repay damages." Bilbo blinked owlishly, seemingly uncomprehensive of the situation before him. The officer helpfully continued, "If you don't want to take him, the officers of Bree will sell him to repay his master's debts."  
Though the man said this kindly, Bilbo knew by the dwarf's condition that a future in Bree would not be a friendly one. The two men looked at him expectantly, the bound dwarf continued to shiver in the pile of snow, and something in Bilbo snapped. His Tookish side took over and he knew what he had to do. Squaring his shoulders and straightening himself up, three-feet six inches of confident hobbit (which, dear reader, I'm afraid he was not), announced in a clear voice:  
"That won't be necessary gentlemen, of course I'm taking him with me. I won him fair and square after all."  
This seemed to surprise the Bree-folk, but Bilbo was in the right. The amiable officer helped disconnect the chains from the post, and the dwarf wobbled to his feet silently, towering taller than Bilbo had expected.  
"It's too late to go back on your word now, Baggins." He mentally scolded himself. "You're not actually keeping a slave." He gulped and then remembered to thank the officer, accepted the proffered lead that was on the chains, and bid the men a good day. Not wanting to wait around to perhaps encounter a vengeful local, he trotted over to rejoin his two companions as quickly as the bound dwarf he lead could follow. The strange-looking band of four quietly left town. Adalgrim and Hamfast crowded Bilbo the moment they cleared the gates of Bree-proper, the first barraging him with questions.  
"What were you thinking Bilbo? A hobbit owning a slave?" Adalgrim hissed, casting a not-so-subtle glance over his shoulder at the dwarf, who trailed as far behind as his chains would allow. "What are you even going to do with him?" Bilbo had no answer for this and merely hemmed and hawed. He looked to Hamfast anxiously. His best friend rubbed his neck and looked guilty.  
"None of this would be happening if we had've just stayed in the Shire where we belong." the homebody grumbled, avoiding eye contact with Bilbo who was feeling worse by the minute, and Adalgrim, who lacked the good graces to hide his scoff.  
"As it is, we're goin awful slow; it's gonna take a lot longer to get home now, because of him." Hamfast jerked his thumb back at their silent companion, who jerked his head down, having been caught staring. Bilbo chewed his lip. His friend was right, and he didn't want to slow them down.  
"You go ahead," he offered with more confidence than he felt. "The two of us will be right behind you, and I know you have to get home to your families. I'll be there soon." His hobbit companions thought about it for a moment and agreed. They would go ahead and Bilbo would arrive a little later. They said their quick farewells, and continued ahead as the sun rose on the glistening snow, ready to be home (though Bilbo swore Hamfast Gamgee skipped just a bit faster than the other hobbit). He awkwardly looked back at his new friend. This was going to be a long walk home.

~

Thorin didn't know what to think. In truth, he was a bit scared. When his master had left him outside last night, he hadn't realized the man had not meant to return for him at some point - although he should have expected it, he thought bitterly. He had shivered in the mud and then the snow, willing himself to stay awake with every fiber of his being, knowing that if he drifted to sleep, he might never awake. The unfamiliar chains around his wrists burned with a frosty cold, sending an unstoppable flow of ice to his bones. Even if he had been dressed warmly, he would have been unprepared for last night. Operating on no sleep, no food, and no warmth, his mind was sluggish. When the tavern keeper had emerged from the inn just before dawn, he had been shocked at Thorin's presence, and had run with even more haste to report the events of the previous night to the nearest town officer. Thorin smirked to himself, keeping his head down as he followed his strange new master. That poor man is going to have a hard time being a tavern keeper in this town.  
As the sun rose in the sky, the snow covering the road began to melt, leaving Thorin and a growingly crabby Bilbo to slug through the freezing muck left behind. Though the hobbit was small, Thorin had served under enough masters to know better than to judge what a person was like based on their size, and the constant grumbling and annoyance exhibited by the halfling was worrisome. He had hoped against all odds for a kinder master this time, and though he didn't see any weapons about his new master that seemed appropriate for dwarf-beating, the scars he already had bore testament to the ingenuity that anger brought. Though the cold manacles around his wrists pained him greatly, it was probably in his best interest that he could not move his arms over-much; as every moment passed, and the slight warmth of the sun and movement of his limbs encouraged his blood to flow freely again, Thorin realized too much movement would tear his shredded tunic and back apart. Though he reminded himself that he deserved to suffer for his failures, he would try to avoid suffering that for now.  
Several hours passed thusly, in awkward silence punctuated by Bilbo's moody mutterings, before the small hobbit cast his gaze up at the midday sun.  
It was time, Bilbo decided, to stop to rest for a late elevensies and an early lunch. His stomach was growling angrily at him for skipping both first and second breakfast, and he was not about to march further without some sustenance. He had also been sneaking glances over his shoulder when he thought the dwarf wasn't looking and noticed his companion struggling to stay upright. The chains were still firmly in place, but Bilbo did not quite know how to address them. The key had been weighing heavily against his side all morning. Veering off the path and towards a nice place to sit, Bilbo noticed the dwarf immediately stiffen, though he dutifully followed the hobbit with an almost tangible sense of doom settling about him.  
This is it. Thorin thought to himself, mentally going through every offense he could imagine he had committed. You walk too slow, you're too tall, he caught you looking at him… what if he just doesn't like dwarves? Maybe it's because I-  
His internal hysteria was cut short when the hobbit spoke up at him - wait, up? Thorin's eyes bugged as he realized the hobbit had seated himself on a boulder. Fear at angering the master kicked in and he fell to his knees with a resounding CRACK.


	6. On the Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin is walking on eggshells, Bilbo is awkward.

All named characters are owned by the Tolkien estate, the following is a non-canonical work of fiction, and does not profit me financially.

Bilbo's eyes bugged. Still holding the rope wound through the chains, he openly stared down at the dwarf on the ground. Mentally cursing his cousin and frantically scrambling for something to say, his mouth worked wordlessly, his free hand gesturing as if the act would call words from the thin air. After what seemed like an eternity (but was probably only a few seconds) speech found him once more.  
"Ummmm… Um. Is everything all right?" When there was no answer from the once more shivering dwarrow on the ground Bilbo nervously continued "I was just stopping for some food, well, the road is long, and well… Yes." he stuttered out. There was still no response from the dwarf. "Oh yes! I almost forgot!" Bilbo jumped up from his boulder seat excitedly, "Hold out your hands, if you please."

On the cold ground, Thorin was fighting every impulse in his body in an effort to stay still. He couldn't anger his new master on the first day, that never went well. But at Bilbo's demand to hold out his hands, he knew he knew something was coming. Not daring to look up at his master, he shakily extended both arms, preparing himself for the worst. *It could be worse, no matter the state of my hands I may yet travel* he sniffled quietly.

Bilbo, completely oblivious to the fears of the slave, happily grabbed the dwarf's wrists, and proceeded to unlock the chains, which fell away with a clank. "There!" he beamed "Nasty things. We won't be needing them anymore!" He stated with much finality.

Thorin was shocked. And confused. And when the small creature raised the chains high above his head, he immediately prepared himself for a brutal beating. But when the chains crashed with a BANG into the underbrush and noisily rolled off in the opposite direction his head snapped up in puzzlement. Seeing his small master's gleeful face as he watched the chains in their trajectory, Thorin was quick to lower his head grimly. *Mahal help me, I don't know how to serve this one.*

Bilbo couldn't help the grin that split his face. It had felt good to throw away the chains and the key. "Well, that's done!" He dusted his hands on his vest, turning back to see the dwarf still kneeling on the ground, with rope wound tightly round his wrists just slightly above where the chains had been. Hastily grabbing the end of the rope and a wrist for closer inspection, Bilbo could see the rope burns were badly infected, and getting the rope away from his ward's skin would be a painful process. "Oh dear," he fretted "I thought it was just the chains. This is bad. I would tend to it here, except-" he lamely gestured towards his bag, "I didn't think I'd need medicine, and I don't want to make this worse." There was no answer from the dwarf save a nearly imperceptible nod. Sighing at the awkwardness of the situation, Bilbo patted the rock next to him and pulled out provisions, but when he turned around, the dwarf had not moved. *I suppose he's too tired to move until we have to.* Shrugging to himself, he set aside food for the two of them, and handed a portion down.

Still contemplating the oddness of his new master, Thorin was jolted from his reveries when a small hand pushed some bread and cheese at him. Eyes widening at the possibility that this might be meant for him, he snuck a peek up at the hobbit's earnest face and decided it must be. Bowing his gratitude, he grasped the food with unsure hands, and when the hobbit called down to encourage him to "Eat up! We've got to be back on the road soon," he needed no further urging. Fighting his hunger, Thorin forced himself to eat slowly, choosing rather to savor the freshest bread he'd had in years - and cheese, such a delicacy he had almost forgotten existed. Yes, he could obey this master if this was the reward, even though he knew he was an impulse buy, another master would have forgone feeding him rather than sharing his own foodstuffs. Though he was tired and bloody and sore, he agreeably (though not without difficulty) rose moments later when his master announced it was time to get walking again.

~

They progressed much in the same way for the next four days, with Bilbo constantly urging the dwarf to do things like eat, and rest when night fell. The whole while Thorin made sure to kneel whenever his small master sat - though the hobbit was unbelievably kind, he did not want to test the boundaries of that kindness, and was in a mild state of euphoria that he had managed to stay out of trouble for the duration of the trip. 

The only hiccup (if you could call it that) in their trek was on the last day, when they shared a noon meal with some fellow travelers, men from Bree. After openly staring at Thorin - who was on even better behavior than the had been - one of the men loudly urged Bilbo:   
"I can see you've got 'im in line, but just so you knows," he paused to jerk a thumb towards the slave, "It's important to keep up discipline. You've gotta give 'em a good thrashing every couple of days to keep it that way, reminds 'em whose boss," He elbowed Bilbo and chuckled with a sick glee.   
Bilbo, who was regretting agreeing to break bread with rough folk as these, could only manage, "Y-yes. Who is boss. I am boss," awkwardly and with overdone conviction that elicited peals of laughter from the strangers.  
It was this exchange that Thorin was anxiously going over in his head when they arrived at Bag End.


	7. Home Again

All named characters are owned by the Tolkien estate, the following is a non-canonical work of fiction, and does not profit me financially.

Finally stepping into the comfort of his own home at last, Bilbo sighed in relief, nearly forgetting his relatively new companion. He dramatically tossed his nearly empty satchel aside and flung back both arms in a happy stretch. Or, flung back one arm in a happy stretch… the other - unfortunately - into the nose of a certain dwarf with a resounding WHACK, and Bilbo spun around as his slave collapsed to the floor of his entry hall in fear.

He had known better. Thorin angrily berated himself as he cringed on the floor. The grim realization of a master who was kind in public, yet changed colors as soon as they were home was not a novel thought or theory for him. Yet he still kicked himself at thinking this time would be different.

Bilbo was utterly mortified. As soon as he had realized what had happened, he spun round to his companion to apologize only to find him prostrate on the floor.   
"I'm so sorry! It was a complete accident! I'm a horrible host!" he blurted out. When a brief moment passed and no response came from the pile of dwarf, Bilbo felt a little irritated. "Look here, I didn't even hit you that hard, I don't even know how to hit someone that hard. Look up at me, I'm sorry." He sat down on the floor by the dwarf, who glared into the floorboards Bilbo's father had laid, steeled for the next hit.   
"I'm sorry." Bilbo whispered, maybe for the first time fully realizing what the folly of Tooks had gotten him into. He reached out a nervous hand, resting it on the dwarf's shoulder in what he thought was a reassuring gesture, but the dwarrow tensed even more.   
"Why won't you say anything?" Bilbo sighed, realizing that for now the only way to get through to his guest was to command. With more firmness than he felt, and with quite a bit of guilt, he leaned back.   
"Sit up." When the dwarf did not respond to this, Bilbo gave him a little nudge "Sit up and talk to me, we cannot continue in this manner."

Thorin ceased his detailed study of the woodgrain, blinking nervously. *He wants to talk? They never want to talk.*  
A glance to the side confirmed what he feared, the hobbit was waiting for a response. Shakily raising himself back up to his knees and staring intently at his bound hands, he forced his voice to work for the first time in an age.   
"I," he nervously cleared his throat, voice raspy from disuse "I am not allowed to speak."

Bilbo huffed.   
"Preposterous! In my home, you are not only allowed to talk, I want you to talk."   
Taking stock of the situation he continued, "We're home now, and I can finally look at your hands, but first we're going to get cleaned up." He began to trail off, losing his confident air to a train of thought.   
*There's only one bathroom Bilbo.* He cast an appraising glance back at the dwarf. "Well, that settles it!" He clapped his hands and rose to his feet, "I'll just be off to freshen up and when I get back, It's your turn." He headed off purposefully down the hall in clear retreat from the awkward situation. Not being an experienced slave-master hobbit, the fact that he had left his dwarf to kneel by the coat hooks did not even occur to him, and he hummed as he ran water for a quick bath.

This, however, suited Thorin just fine, as it left him to his bewildered thoughts. Everything the hobbit did seemed contradictory, and though he had experienced serving under many different people - some of whom he was certain were mad - this master was different to all of them. He sat mulling these thoughts over and had quite lost track of the time when a freshly bathed and rosy cheeked hobbit chirped down at him that it was his turn for a bath. A bath? This was new. Carefully pulling himself to his feet to follow his master down the hall, he rationalized that the hobbit did not want the filth of a dwarf in his home, however brief. Still half lost in his train of thought, and trying to absorb everything the hobbit was spouting about kitchens and bedrooms and the like, Thorin nearly walked right into the halfling, who had stopped and was gesturing towards a doorway.   
Stepping into the relatively spacious and steamy bathroom, he was greeted with the soft smell of a floral shampoo and all the small puddles on the floor and mirror smudges one would expect when following the hasty washing ritual of a hobbit.   
"Let me see your hands again." He turned to his master, again extending his hands. "I apologize in advance," the hobbit stated, and with a small knife, gingerly sawed the knots apart, pulling the rope from his wrists. The little master scowled at the seeping abrasions, tutting as he discarded the rope in a nearby wastebasket and washed his hands in the sink.   
Turning back to Thorin he continued, "Take your time and get clean, the bathroom is all yours. I'll try and find something you can wear, and when you are done, come to the kitchen." At this final stream of instruction, the hobbit exited abruptly, leaving Thorin alone in the bathroom.   
Looking around in awe, he realized it had been years since he had even been in a bathroom, much less one so nice as this. Remembering his master awaited him, he snapped into action. His boots fell apart the moment he tried to unbuckle them, and as he folded his trousers carefully to the side he realized they were nearly scandalously threadbare. His tunic, he feared, was lost, as the shredded threads of the shirt were now mingled with the scabs and dried blood that covered his back. With a white-knuckled grip on either side of the bathtub, Thorin lowered himself into the hot water, gritting his teeth as both the tunic and his back began to bleed again. After a few moments of this, he was able to peel the fabric away, though not in one piece and not without considerable discomfort. The rest of his bath was definitely better, and he avoided his injuries best he could. As he rinsed the hobbit's flowery shampoo out of his long tresses, the bathroom door cracked open and a small bundle of cloth and a belt was pushed in, along with the shouted instructions of "Wear these!"   
Rising to dry himself with the towel the hobbit had thrust at him in his retreat to the kitchen, Thorin looked around the bathroom in horror. What had once been a sparkling room, pristine but for the steam, was now coated in a layer of grime. Jerking his gaze back to the tub was not much better, as the water was a cloudy pink, with visible dirt at the bottom. Even the clothes that he had taken off and tried to fold appeared to be an oozing pile of mud. Trying to swallow the growing lump in his throat without much success, Thorin realized he had to clean the bathroom before his master could see it and decide his days of leniency were over.   
A frantic search of the bathroom did not yield many cleaning supplies, but fear is the mother of invention (or something like that) and soon, the bathroom was nearly back to its former glory.   
A knock at the door startled Thorin into dropping his towel, and the query came "Are you nearly done in there? I know I said to take your time, but the consistency of this stew is perfect and I don't want to ruin it."   
Thorin desperately scoured his mind for what an obedient slave might answer to allay all suspicions of a bathroom in ruin. Clearing his throat, he cried out "Yes Master!" his voice cracking in an un-Thorinlike manner more reminiscent of a dwarfling. Blushing fiercely, he inclined his head toward the door, glad when he heard the soft foot-fall of the hobbit away towards the kitchen. Putting on the clean clothes provided by his master, he chuckled to himself at the high leg on the trousers. His old friend Dwalin would never let him hear the end of it if he were around to see this particular fashion statement. Sighing at memories of old comrades who must now be dead, Thorin very carefully donned the white shirt, trying to keep it from touching his raw back.  
Giving the bathroom one last cursory check, he decided that though he had cleaned every surface, there was nothing that could be done about his old clothes. He would just have to apologize and accept whatever judgement his master declared. Though a mere bath could not undo years of hurt, Thorin stepped into Bilbo's kitchen a new dwarf.


	8. An Uneasy Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamfast comes through.

All named characters are owned by the Tolkien estate, the following is a non-canonical work of fiction, and does not profit me financially.

Bilbo hummed to himself as he snipped some parsley to garnish dinner. Finally he was home in his kitchen, soon foolish escapades could be forgotten in his safe home. His kitchen always had a calming effect on him. Pausing, Bilbo frowned, then shook his head. He would be a good friend to the dwarf, he had to be responsible, and never let it be said that Bag End was not a home of hospitality. As he put the finishing touches on the stew, floorboards creaked, signaling the arrival of his company.   
Bilbo turned, "Ah! Yes! You look much more like yourself, Mister…" he trailed off for two reasons, one, he realized that he did not know the dwarf's name, and two, his guest was doing that annoying thing and kneeling again.  
"Look here!" Bilbo began, gesturing with a handful of parsley and the scissors, "You just took a bath! The floor's not dirty, but-"  
The dwarf's head jerked up, startling him. Eyes wide with what looked like panic, the dwarf hoarsely cried, "Please master! I did my best! I am so sorry! I'll obey every order, please! Punish me another way!"  
Bilbo arched a confused brow. "E-excuse me? How am I punishing you?" The dwarf ducked his head so quickly it seemed he would smack his head on the floor, and a soft voice pled with him.  
"Please let me keep the beard."  
Bilbo huffed. So that's what the problem was. He tossed the offending scissors into the sink and took a seat at the kitchen table. "I'm not going to be cutting anybody's beard." He gestured towards the seat across the table. "Sit at the table, you're not going to find dinner down there."

Thorin dared a glance upwards. Sit at the table? Was this a trap? Keeping his head down, he shakily rose to his feet and awkwardly perched on the edge of the chair. A vast expanse of food greeted him and he could not stifle a gasp that made his master chuckle.

"Please," Bilbo pushed a hearty bowl of stew towards him, "Help yourself to everything on the table. If we finish it all, there's definitely more, this is a hobbit home after all."   
Thorin blinked owlishly, seemingly uncomprehensive.   
"Oh! One last thing!" Bilbo chirped, "I've quite forgotten to ask you your name, or give you mine so we've never been properly introduced. Hobbits are not in the habit of eating with strangers. So," the hobbit lifted a spoon grandly and grinned, "I am Bilbo Baggins of Bag End."   
Thorin nodded dumbly for a moment before he remembered his manners, and blurted out, "THORIN!!! ah… I-I mean. Thorin. Thorin Oakenshield."   
With a slight bow, he quickly (and more quietly) added, "at your service master." Bilbo tried not to snigger at the dwarf's awkwardness, pushing a basket of biscuits towards him, "It's nice to meet you then, Mr. Oakenshield."

There might have been an awkward silence then, but they were thankfully interrupted by a knock at the front door. Bilbo sighed and rose to answer it. Pausing at the threshold of the kitchen he turned and reminded Thorin, "Go ahead and eat, it's probably just a neighbor. I'll be right back." With that, he turned and left Thorin sitting in front of the biggest feast he had seen in a long time.

His master had been very clear about eating. This was an order Thorin wouldn't mind following altogether too much. His stomach gurgled a bit and he attacked the food with gusto, keeping a wary ear out to listen for Bilbo's return.

At the door, Bilbo was slightly surprised to see Hamfast Gamgee, who seemed more interested at looking past him and into his home than to welcome him back to the Shire. Attempting to divert attention, Bilbo greeted his friend in good humor, "I see you made it back safely Ham."  
"Oh yes, welcome back yourself Bilbo, but where is the fellow that left Bree with you?" Hamfast leaned in, peeking around Bilbo on either side. Giving up, Bilbo stepped aside and his curious friend rushed inside.   
"We've just started at dinner, but I don't know if he's ready for guests quite ye-" he turned to see Hamfast's back as the hobbit strode with purpose towards the kitchen. Sighing, Bilbo hurried to catch up, but did not make it to Thorin before his gardener did.   
There came a surprised yelp and a crash, and Bilbo nearly smashed into Hamfast, who was already trying to apologize to a scared dwarf who was on his hands and knees trying to clean the mess he'd accidentally made as Hamfast had startled him.

Thorin had ruined everything. There had been such a good start this time. Why did he have to be so skittish? He had not expected the Hobbit from that first morning to come rushing in. His elbow had jerked as he made to evacuate the chair in favor of the floor when he had knocked the bowl with the remnants of stew to the floor in a heart-stopping shatter. Now as he grasped at the fractured pieces, his mind raced in every direction. He was definitely in trouble. What had worked in the past? Eyes darting around towards possible weapons, his brain finally caught up with him and he unbuckled his belt to shakily offer it up towards his master. Willing his voice not to tremble, he lowered his forehead to the floor, still holding the belt high.   
"I apologize for my clumsiness master. Please punish me any way you see fit."

Hamfast and Bilbo stared down at him, eyes wide as saucers.   
"What have you been doing!" Hamfast cried angrily, stepping closer to Thorin, who flinched instinctively. Hamfast peered down at Thorin's back more closely and lifted an accusing glare at Bilbo. "Bilbo Baggins, if you've ill-treated 'im you'll have me to answer to!"  
Bilbo's feet were glued in place, but he managed to croak, "Whatever can you mean? I've done nothing to him! He's fine!"  
Hamfast scoffed and crossed his arms defensively. "You sure you haven't been beating him?"   
Bilbo shook his head adamantly, finally finding his feet to come see what his friend was so angry about. Hamfast forcefully pointed down at Thorin's back and Bilbo inhaled sharply. Lash marks were already bleeding through the white material.

Five minutes later, Thorin found himself sitting at the table again, his belt firmly buckled back in place, with another full bowl of stew thrust towards him as the second hobbit - Hamfast was it? - dragged his master to another room. Thorin sighed, happy to have more food, but resigning himself to a life of confusion. Hobbits were certainly strange little creatures. He had been certain that his admission of guilt and meekness would at least gain him some small favor, even if it didn't lessen the punishment at least his small master might look at him with more kindness. It had worked with other masters before. But the halflings had merely shuffled closer, looked down at his back and pulled him to his feet before shoving food at him while insisting he eat more as they rushed from the room.

Hamfast half dragged Bilbo to the furthest pantry from the kitchen before backing him into a corner and harshly whispering, "Why is his back already bleedin' Bilbo?"  
Bilbo didn't know what to say, dazed from the speed at which things were happening. Hamfast poked him in the ribs, startling him back to the present.  
"Ah, I, ah… I suppose it's from his old master. That angry man from the tavern."  
Hamfast scowled darkly at him.  
"And you 'aven't seen fit to take care of it yet?"  
Bilbo stuttered, trying to find some way he could prove to his friend that he was innocent of wrongdoing concerning the dwarf.  
"Well, we've - we've been on the road. You know how dirty traveling is… why I didn't want to risk an infection with his wrists and all…" he trailed off realizing how stupid he was and Hamfast's face merely darkened further.  
"What d'you mean his wrists?"  
Bilbo tried to shrink backwards, but he was already leaning as far back into the cheese shelf as he could.  
"Welllll….I wasn't thinking alright?!" He hissed back. Hurriedly and in hushed tones, Bilbo told his friend about the trip back, realizing all the stupid things he had said and done and not said that needed to be said, and generally the kind of things that would torment him as he dropped off to sleep for many months (a quality to which I am sure most people can relate, dear reader).   
After finally relating the events of the last few days to Hamfast, who for his part only interrupted a few times with exclamations as, "You didn't Mr. Baggins, you didn't!" and "That's the stupidest thing you've ever done." he slumped back into the pantry shelves, feeling thoroughly and utterly foolish and very much like a child.

"What do I do, Ham?" he asked, scrubbing an exhausted hand across his face.  
Hamfast grimly gazed back at him, and calmly responded, "You 'afta do what's right Bilbo. Is it a slave you want?"   
Turning, he stalked off, leaving Bilbo alone in the pantry. 

It didn't take Bilbo very long to decide what to do. Squaring his shoulders, he marched out of the pantry and back into the kitchen, where Hamfast was eating - and miraculously, making small talk with Thorin, who seemed to like the shy young hobbit (though it was Hamfast that was doing most of the talking). Upon Bilbo's re-entry into the kitchen, the conversation halted abruptly, Hamfast searching Bilbo's determined features and Thorin submissively bowing his head.  
"I apologize." Bilbo began, "I realize, Mr. Oakenshield, that I have been less than clear in my communication with you. I do not intend to keep you as a slave."   
Thorin started with concern and crying, "Please don't sell me sir! You are a kind master and-" Bilbo raised a hand to stop him and continued, "I don't intend to keep you as a slave because I don't want you to be a slave anymore. If there is paperwork that needs to be signed or officials to talk to I will do it, but from today we will consider you a free man - er, dwarf."  
Hamfast beamed with approval, Bilbo felt he had finally done something right for the first time in a while, and Thorin managed to choke on his own spit and fall out of his chair to land flat on his face.


	9. The Calm after the Storm

All named characters are owned by the Tolkien estate, the following is a non-canonical work of fiction, and does not profit me financially.

Of course, the first order of business, was to ensure that the newly freed Thorin did not choke to death, but once he wheezed out a shaky "Wha-at?" both hobbits relaxed. Sitting down to attempt to at least eat some dinner, Bilbo awkwardly began.  
"I never meant to own a slave, I didn't buy you on purpose. But then there you were, and I suppose I meant to set you free earlier, but I…." Bilbo searched for words.  
"But he's real stupid sometimes," offered Hamfast, who was filling Thorin's plate yet again. Bilbo nodded reluctantly,  
"Yes, I suppose I am. I never meant for you to think I was your master, but I didn't know how to bring it up."  
"Other than, you know, just saying it," Hamfast scoffed, still irked at his well-meaning friend.   
Over the course of the very long dinner, Thorin managed to feel more at home, smiling when Hamfast cracked a joke, and passing various dishes to Bilbo comfortably. When the hobbit duo finally decided that dinner had been sufficient, they rose and began to clear away the table. Thorin jumped up to help, not used to sitting idly by, but was halted instantly when Hamfast glared at him.  
"You sit right back down, master dwarf. You're not going anywhere until we make sure your cuts and scrapes 've been tended to." Startled by the outburst, but used to taking orders, Thorin dropped back down into his chair and watched the two bustle about as they washed various dishes until the kitchen was back in its normal state (although it could be argued that hobbit kitchens are filled with food more often than they are not).  
Then, both hobbits abandoned him in the kitchen, Bilbo calling back, "Stay put, Thorin! We'll just be back in a tick." Tired from the long day, and in a warm home with food in his stomach, Thorin had nearly dozed off when Hamfast ran back into the kitchen, followed closely by Bilbo, whose arms were piled high with varying medicines, plants, and bandages. Out of habit, he threw himself to the floor, but upon hearing Hamfast's startled squeak, he blearily remembered the events of the day, and sheepishly rose.

"What's happened? What's wrong?" Bilbo asked from behind the mountain of supplies he carried.  
"Nothin's happened," Hamfast answered, taking Thorin's arm to help him back into the chair. "Set that stuff down on the table Mister Bilbo, and you, Mister Oakenshield," he nodded to the seated dwarf, "Take off your shirt if you please."  
Hesitantly, and not without Hamfast's help, Thorin painfully peeled the material up and over his head, feeling more self-conscious than he had in years as the hobbits behind him gasped indignantly, staring at his many wounds.  
Searching for words, Bilbo blurted out the first thing that came to mind, "Well, you certainly weren't very well behaved were you?"  
Thorin bowed his head and smirked in false contrition, "I tried my best."  
Hamfast smacked Bilbo's arm, "That's not funny Bilbo! He didn't 'ave no control over what happened to him!"

Working efficiently, the gardener used his expert knowledge of plants and herbs to patch up the ragged dwarf, stopping at intervals to ask if Thorin was in pain - which he always denied - and to continue in his tirade against slavery, which he kept up the entire time. When Hamfast was sure he had slathered Thorin with enough salve to heal a small village and that the bandages covering the dwarf's back, chest, and wrists were snugly in place, he bid the inhabitants of Bag End a good night, and trotted off home.

Bilbo had tried to pay attention to Hamfast's commentary on slavery and the odd medicinal tip here and there, but at some point, he had seated himself across from Thorin at the table, and was now nearly asleep. The tea he had made after dinner had long gone cold, and looking up at the calm but tired gaze leveled at him across the table, he realized that he had yet to show the dwarf to bed. Rising groggily, he collected Thorin's discarded shirt.

"If you would like, I can show you to your bedroom," he yawned, "It's not too fancy, but it's cosy and safe." Thorin nodded, and sluggishly rose to follow. Bilbo led them down the hall, stopping to toss the shirt into the laundry hamper, before reaching his favorite of the guest bedrooms. Opening the door, he gave the room a cursory glance to check that everything was in order.  
"You'll like the blue room, I think. It was my mother's favorite."  
Thorin nodded, stepping into the welcoming room, taking in the small fireplace, crowded bookshelves, and large bed. Smiling tearfully, he murmured his thanks, and a tired Bilbo bid him a drowsy "Goodnight, Thorin," softly closing the door behind him with a *click*, leaving Thorin in the bedroom. For the first night in a long time, the tears Thorin wept before sleep were happy.


	10. An Unexpected Guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A certain wizard makes a house call.

All named characters are owned by the Tolkien estate, the following is a non-canonical work of fiction, and does not profit me financially.

Life at Bag End settled into a happy pattern, Bilbo happy to be home, and Thorin reveling in his freedom. Though he was still in disbelief over his good fortune, nothing the hobbit did caused him concern that the gift of Thorin's freedom would be rescinded. If Bilbo ever tried, Thorin was sure the gardener would have something to say about it, as his self-appointed champion constantly invited himself over under the guise of working around the hobbit home. 

One day, as Thorin had tried to help with the flowers, Hamfast leaned over and conspiratorially whispered to him, "Bagginses, they mean well and all, but it's us Gamgees that keep 'em safe in this world."  
Though he tried to help out around the house, every time Bilbo caught him doing something he deemed "too strenuous" he was waved away with a warning about overexerting himself or impeding his healing process. Thorin was just about to go stir crazy when Bag End had an unexpected visitor.

Bilbo was feeling rather out of sorts along with the cloudy weather when a stranger appeared at the gate, claiming to be a friend of his mother. Gandalf the Grey, he said his name was. But as much as he wanted to, Bilbo could not deny that the longer the wizard spoke to him, the more he remembered the old man visiting his mother for tea at odd times, enthralling a much younger Bilbo with tales of far-off lands, and most of all the fireworks. 

Grudgingly, he invited Gandalf in for tea, as that was the time of day it was, and he ushered the wizard into the hall, remarkably unprepared for Gandalf's complete shock at seeing Thorin come in the backdoor.

"THORIN OAKENSHIELD WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THE SHIRE! EVERYONE THINKS YOU ARE DEAD!"

Thorin had no idea who this stranger was and could only stand at the opposite end of the hall, mouth moving wordlessly at this old man who seemed to know who he was. Bilbo poked his head back into the hall from the kitchen where he had run ahead, perplexed that Gandalf had not followed him and surprised by the loud outburst.  
"Excuse me?" he asked crossly, "Why are you shouting in my home, Gandalf?"

Still staring at Thorin, Gandalf spoke, nearly to himself, yet answering the query.  
"Out of all the places in the world, the Shire is the last place I expected to run into the crown prince of Erebor. Though I suppose it's 'king' of Erebor now."

Bilbo scrunched his eyes in confusion, glancing between the pair caught up in the staring match in his hallway. Glaring darkly down the hall, Thorin's voice dipped dangerously low as he ground out his response.

"I am NOT king under the mountain."

After a tense moment, Bilbo managed to shepherd everyone into the kitchen for tea. Gandalf stared openly at Thorin all the while, as Thorin looked anywhere but the wizard. Pouring out tea for the three of them, Bilbo cleared his throat and addressed the room: "All of this brooding silence might be fine for the two of you, but not for me. Someone explain what is happening!"

With a dark glare at Gandalf, Thorin mumbled something unintelligible.

"Excuse me, what?!" Bilbo retorted.

"I said my family used to be important." Thorin grumbled again.

"Ha! Used to be important!" Gandalf let out a bark of bitter laughter, "Thorin Oakenshield, your family is just as important as they always were! If you only knew how many still look for you, even though they think you may be dead! The dwarves of Erebor would welcome you back with open arms, that is, if your sister doesn't kill you first."

Thorin paled instantly. "My sister is dead," he whispered in disbelief.

Gandalf leaned back in his chair, pulling out his pipe with a look of smug satisfaction on his face.   
"Did you see her die then, Thorin?" 

When Thorin could only answer with a mute shake of his head, Gandalf harrumphed.   
"You Durins, all alike, all so predictable. Jumping to this conclusion and that."

Bilbo could only sit with his mouth agape. *What is happening? Who is Gandalf? Who is Thorin? Who am I? Bilbo Baggins how you manage to always get tangled up in these situations, your mother-*

"Your mother would be proud, Bilbo." Gandalf's voice interrupted his thoughts. Bilbo turned a wide eyed look towards the wizard.

"What?"

Gandalf smirked at him, lighting his pipe and leaning back.  
"Your mother would be proud that her son has done what hundreds of dwarves and a wizard could not. You've found the proverbial needle in the haystack." He gestured towards Thorin, who stared blankly at his steaming tea, in an apparent state of shock. 

Bilbo spluttered at the compliment. "Whatever do you mean, Gandalf?"

"How on earth did the two of you meet?" the wizard countered with a question.

Bilbo blushed red, "Ahem…well… er….It was my cousin's birthday you see, and… well…" 

Gandalf nodded, "It would be nice to hear this story sometime today." 

Bilbo averted his gaze to Thorin, who looked as hesitant about sharing the tale as he felt. Bilbo sipped his tea, he'd really rather NOT tell this embarrassing story. But what could be done? Inhaling deeply, Bilbo decided the faster he could spit out the tale the sooner it would be over, and he blurted out the story as quickly as he was coherently able.

"It was Adalgrim's fault - he's a Took you see - for his birthday we went to Bree and there we gambled a bit and it all got rather violent and out of hand and I won a pony only it wasn't a pony it was a dwarf and the dwarf was Thorin and he was hurt and we walked home and it took a long time and I know it was foolish of me to act the way I did but I've apologized and we're doing better so THERE!"

Panting, Bilbo jumped up from the table to replenish the tea - and mostly so he could avoid the questions Gandalf might ambush him with, but the wizard sat in silence for a few minutes. When he spoke again it was to address Thorin.

"So this entire time you have been a slave?"

Thorin nodded glumly. Gandalf puffed on his pipe with a pensive look.

"I may have seen you in Bree, in fact I believe it was the very night of the gambling incident."

Thorin's gaze dropped to his palms, and in a low voice he murmured, "Slavery was difficult, but after I failed to protect my family, it was no more than I deserved."

Gandalf made to speak, but his words and his pipe weed were stuck somewhere in his throat and he could only manage an angry cough.

"You say Dis is alive, and for this I am glad, but I can never face her." Thorin paused, ducking his head down, "My sister's sons," he choked, fighting tears, "They are gone from her - nay, they are probably dead - because I could not protect them."

"I have heard ENOUGH!" Gandalf cried, slamming his hand down on the table, startling the dwarf and the hobbit. "I understand you are a Durin, but I will not sit here and listen to you wallow in your misery!"

"EXCUSE ME PLEASE!" Bilbo had reached his wit's end. "In the time that you have been here, you have lived up to your reputation, Gandalf. My peaceful home is now anything but! I would much appreciate it if you could possibly avoid antagonizing my guest Mr. Oakenshield here, who has suffered enough!"

"In that case," Gandalf huffed, "I will be taking my leave."   
He rose from the table and made his way back to the front door, Bilbo close at his heels, leaving a teary-eyed and brooding Thorin in the kitchen. Pausing just inside the open doorway, Gandalf looked back at Bilbo.

"Do not think I will not return, Bilbo Baggins, for I intend to do just that. Thank you for the tea, and good day!"

And with that, he purposefully strode off into the mist, leaving an irritated hobbit to run back to the kitchen to see how Thorin fared.


	11. A Change of Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf takes the road to Isengard.

All named characters are owned by the Tolkien estate, the following is a non-canonical work of fiction, and does not profit me financially.

Shivering against the growing chill, Gandalf drew his grey cloak tighter around his shoulders and he chuckled to himself. Out of all the things he had expected when he decided to visit Belladonna's son, the long lost dwarf was not one of them. Shaking his head with disbelief, Gandalf hiked up the hill bordering Hobbiton where he had left his horse.   
"Lucky foolishness of hobbits," he smiled to himself, "Bound to surprise us all in the end."  
Swinging himself up into the saddle, he urged the horse into a steady trot through the gathering fog. Though Thorin was not coming with him, it would be unwise to keep this information about the dwarf's wellbeing to himself. It was a good thing the Blue Mountains were so close by.

~

Several miserable hours into his ride along the roads that ran by the Shire, Gandalf's musings were cut short by a persistent crow that appeared from nowhere and began to harass him.   
"Oh bother and confuscate it all!" he batted at the swooping bird, "Be off and about your business, you harbinger of woe!"   
But at the utterance of his own words, he paused in his frantic waving. Peering at the black frenzy of feathers, he realized that rather than a common crow it was a crebain, and those weren't common here. Scowling, Gandalf sighed. A messenger from Saruman, no doubt. He would have to have a word with his friend about avoiding the appearance of evil, a topic upon which the white wizard and he could never see eye to eye.   
Allowing the croaking bird to alight on his outstretched staff, the wizard now noticed a scrap of linen tied to one of the crow's legs. He had barely grasped its corner when the patience of the bird ran short, and it shot away with a flap of its wings, leaving an annoyed Gandalf grasping at the message.   
Grumbling about the unreliability of the minds of birds, he unfurled the message, straining his eyes at the smeared lettering. After a moment of turning the scrap this way and that, no decipherable message could be read. Casting a resigned look up the road to Ered Luin, the wizard reluctantly turned his steed back towards Isengard. Whatever foolishness this was, the white wizard did not wait for man, beast, or fellow wizard and ignoring his messages was never a wise choice.

~

Although the Shire was not big, it was nearing midday the next morning when Gandalf reached the Old Forest near Buckland. Though he was a wizard, Gandalf knew to keep a weather eye out, as the trees in this part of the forest had respect for no person. Well, they respected one person, but Gandalf had not had the pleasure of his conversation in a long while. The trees were oddly peaceful this day, but as he neared the deepest part of the woods, the familiar whispers of the trees began to reach his ears. Brandishing his staff high, the grey wizard doubled his pace, he was not afraid, but neither was he a fool. The only words of any import that managed to reach his ears spoke of the sufferings of "small troubles" that lived with a maggot nearby. Shrugging to himself, Gandalf assumed that a certain Farmer Maggot's workers had been mucking about where they shouldn't, and he continued on his way.

Though he felt some guilt for pushing his horse, the journey to Isengard still felt long when he finally arrived two weeks later. Upon arrival, the harried-looking stable-keeper graciously but with some surprise boarded his horse.  
"It's good to see you, Gandalf, sir, and pardon me for asking, but is there something amiss?" Gandalf raised a brow at the man, who continued, "I'm sorry sir, but I only ask because things here are changing but no-one answers my questions, and I don't know how long I can keep working here."  
Nodding wearily, Gandalf wearily promised to give the man counsel before he departed the stronghold and headed for the tower to make his arrival known.

Saruman was even less welcoming than he had expected, for the standoffish lord of Isengard denied any attempt at communication. Out of sorts and tired, the two shared an awkward evening meal and Gandalf was more than happy to leave the white wizard in favor of rest in private chambers reserved for guests of the tower. Thankful that his suite of rooms was far from Saruman's living quarters, Gandalf sank into the welcoming armchair in front of the roaring fire and relaxed for the first time that evening. Lulled by the warmth of the fire and the hypnotic flicker of the flames, he dozed off easily.

~

Frightened eyes watched the old man warily from the darkest and furthest corner of the bedroom. Sent in to make certain the rooms were clean and welcoming, the shadow had lingered too long in the fire's glow and now hid in fear of angering the guest. After it seemed the wizard was asleep, the figure crept cautiously out of the corner and across the floor behind the occupied chair. The door - and freedom - was close, but at that precise moment, the guest awoke with a start and a jump, and all hope of escape was lost.

Gandalf groaned tiredly, cursing the hypervigilance of the Maiar. Someday he would sleep restfully, but for now, he blinked his already open eyes at the handful of blond hair in his grasp. Peering blearily at his captive, he grumbled, "What have we here, what is this!" and gave the frozen bundle a shake. When the intruder squeaked and wriggled about, Gandalf pulled his surprise guest into the soft light cast by the cheery fire.  
"Does Saruman keep children running about, what is this!" he cried, pulling the creature this way and that, before raising his free hand and invoking the beginnings of what sounded like a fearsome spell, "By the light of the lady of the wood, by the power of Arda…" but he did not have to continue his ruse further for the shaking bundle threw out its arms in a placating gesture and cried out,   
"Please don't magic me, I'll be good!"

"A dwarf!" Gandalf stated with some incredulity, letting go the creature's braids and leaning back into the chair's warm embrace, "I do believe I am developing a dwarf problem." Glancing back down at the dwarrow shaking at his feet, he sought to set the dwarf's fears at ease.  
"Now, now, I'm not going to turn you into anything or cast a spell on you. What are you doing in my room?"

A long moment passed, and a sound suspiciously like sniffling came up from the huddled pile of rags - for it was in rags the dwarf was clad. A second later, Gandalf's fears were proved correct when a tear-streaked face was raised to stare at him and a wobbly voice replied, "P-please don't hurt me sir! I was only doing the duties the caretaker gave me!"  
Gandalf frowned, he was unaware Saruman had need of many servants. Taking in the short beard and youthful face, his next question was spoken softly,   
"There is a caretaker now? How large a household does Saruman have?"

A look of panic flashed across the servant's face as he realized he had failed to observe proper etiquette. Clambering to his feet as quickly as he could, he rushed out, "I apologize for the caretaker sir. There's only one of him, two of us. I shouldn't be here disturbing your wizardliness - sir - milord, uh….." The dwarf stumbled awkwardly through his words and managed to look even more afraid. "I….I should have been out of your way, and I'll do that now," he snapped at the waist in a jerky bow that startled the wizard and sent messy braids flying in every direction. "I mean, Fili sir, at your service sir," he finished miserably, his hands nervously worrying the hem of his frayed tunic. 

Casting an anxious glance toward the door that kept him alone with a powerful wizard, the young dwarf hopefully continued, "I hope you sleep well master wizard, have a good night." And with that, he bowed again, quick as he could, and made for the door. Gandalf was not finished with this conversation, however, and with inhuman speed, snaked out a hand to halt the exit of his hesitant companion. He was not expecting the cry of pain that followed, and though he did not let go of the wrist he had grasped, he tugged the reluctant dwarf back into the glow of the fire with a much more gentle grip.

"I was going to ask you a few more questions first, young Fili, but it seems we have more to talk about than who you are." Carefully, Gandalf appraised the wrist in his hand, frowning when he saw the tell-tale signs of shackles. From the way the dwarf held himself, Gandalf assumed the worst, but needed to see for himself. Trying to send the lad a reassuring smile, Gandalf knew his next command would do little to allay the dwarf's fears. "Fili, I need you to give me your shirt." 

Still sniffling, Fili nodded morosely. Surely his bad luck continued. Could he be beaten by a wizard and live? However, the possibilities of what could happen if he did not obey seemed far more daunting. Painfully shrugging out of the worn fabric, he quickly turned away from the guest, hoping to get the experience over with as soon as possible.  
In his comfortable chair, Gandalf scowled. Even in the forgiving light of the fire, angry welts crisscrossed every inch of Fili's back. Whatever mischief or misstep the servant had been guilty of, Gandalf was sure it had not warranted this.

"Bring me my satchel," he requested, trying to keep the anger at such cruelty out of his voice. The dwarf jumped and nodded, tripping in his haste to do as he was bid. Returning with the bag, Fili resumed his place in front of the chair. Fully expecting to be beaten by whatever the wizard kept in the bag, Fili jumped when a gentle hand rested on his shoulder instead.  
"I do not intend to punish you, I want to help you," Gandalf sighed, feeling the weight of his neverending years. "I do not want to cause you trouble, when must you return before you are missed?"

Fili could not believe what his ears told him. This wizard wanted to help? Grimly he realized that if it was a trap he was powerless against such a foe regardless of what he might say, so he chose the truth.   
"The caretaker is already abed tonight, my absence will not be noticed." Gandalf nodded and gestured for the dwarf to take a seat upon the hearth rug.

"It is good fortune lord Elrond sees that his guests do not depart empty handed, even if he does think he is sly about it," Gandalf murmured to himself, sorting through the healing herbs and medicines the elven host often snuck into his packs. Finding a salve with which he was familiar, he turned his attention to Fili, who was fidgeting nervously.  
"I am sorry if this pains you, young master dwarf. But I promise it will help some." And as gently as he could, Gandalf applied the healing ointment and bandages to the whip marks and raw wrists of the servant, who at least seemed to cringe less at the frightening prospect of being alone with a master of magic. When he had done as much as he knew how, for healing was sadly not a power he possessed, Gandalf leaned back from the edge of his chair and broke the easy silence, "I have done what I can, I am sorry it is not more. You had mentioned another like yourself… do they need my help as well?"

Still in awe at the kindly manner of the tower guest, Fili turned to his benefactor and nodded, first absentmindedly, then emphatically as he realized what he had been asked.  
"Oh yes, sir! He's my younger brother sir! He didn't mean to cause trouble, but sometimes it just happens anyways. Please help him!"

Gandalf tilted his head quizzically, and Fili took this as a sign to continue.  
"We're the servants here, my brother and me. He displeased the caretaker and he's been locked in the cellar for a week. If you could help him, please." He stopped to bow once more, voice pleading. Gandalf nodded firmly.

"Yes. I believe I shall. However," he paused, "The night is nearly over, and such things are best done after some sleep; as much as I desire a word with the caretaker of this fortress, I am in dire need of rest." Rising tiredly to his feet, the wizard made towards the large bed. Gratefully, Fili reached for his shirt, slipping it carefully over Gandalf's bandaging job that would have given a certain healer of Rivendell a good laugh.

"I bid you a good rest then sir," he bowed deeply, "And you have my sincere thanks, you are the kindest person I have known in my time here."

"I have only done what any good person does, Fili. Sleep well. I will speak to your master on the morrow."And at those words, Fili practically skipped down the dark stairs to his cot in the kitchen, grinning as broadly as his mouth would allow, for tomorrow would be a good day.


	12. In the White Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sun rises and Gandalf sets out to help.

All named characters are owned by the Tolkien estate, the following is a non-canonical work of fiction, and does not profit me financially.

It was morning and the sun's tentative rays were peeking over the Misty Mountains when Gandalf stirred. Rising in bed slowly, he drew the blankets about him as the room was icy cold. Frowning with confusion, he realized Fili should have been back to light the fire by now, his job as a servant meant being the first up to ready the house for the day. Worried for the wellbeing of the young dwarf, and knowing it would be harder to rise the longer he remained in the bed, he reluctantly cast the warm bedclothes aside.

~

Unfortunately, Gandalf's concerns were not unfounded. When Fili had awoken, he had set about readying everything for the guest and the masters. Once he had greeted the friendly cook who slipped him some food, he had happily scampered off to light the fires that warmed the cold tower. The chambers of the white wizard were always first, and he cautiously made his way through the cheerless rooms, successful in his stealth. 

Deciding to save the kindly guest for last, Fili was in the midst of building a fire in the caretaker's room when his shoulder was seized in a cruel claw. Not daring to look up, he shrunk into himself when the voice hissed, "What is this?!"

Unsure as to what trespass the caretaker addressed, he bit his lip as he dared not answer wrongly and risk punishment. Not waiting long for an answer, the caretaker hauled him up and continued, "Do you think me soft? Do you think yourself persecuted?" Fili flinched as the bandage around his wrist was torn from his arm and held in his face. "Since you have once again forgotten how gracefully you are treated here, it is time that you trade places with your brother!"

Not allowing Fili to finish his task, the caretaker dragged him out of the room and down to the cellars, making sure to knock the dwarf about as much as possible. Pausing only to light a torch with the flint he tore from Fili's trembling hands, the caretaker continued in his ill-treatment until they had reached the cellar furthest from light or hospitable living thing. Unlocking the heavy wooden door, the caretaker harshly shoved Fili into the black aperture, following immediately.

~

Kili's legs cramped for the umpteenth time, no matter what position he tried to sit in he could not get comfortable. The shackles that bound his wrists to the post behind him were cold and heavy and chafed a great deal. But as much as he hated the dank cellars, he knew that for every moment he was here, his brother was not; when one dwarf toiled above, the other would always be locked up below. It was a pattern established as soon as the harsh caretaker had realized the bond between the brothers. Though sometimes the patience of the caretaker stretched even a week before he was sufficiently angered to exchange the servants, a week it had been and it was no surprise to Kili when the door was opened and his brother was shoved into the dark vault.

The caretaker slammed the torch into a web-covered sconce and grabbed a handful of the blonde's tunic, half carrying half dragging him to another pair of shackles where he was securely fastened. Kili looked across the room at his brother's face with despair, he longed to call out but they had long ago learned the severe punishment for speaking to each other.

Turning his attention to Kili, the caretaker approached and released him from his bonds, immediately hoisting him forward by his shirt front and pushing him to the cobbled floor.  
"You thought to mock me when you tied rags to the lord's finest messengers!" He shouted down at the dark haired dwarrow. "If it takes a sound beating and time in the dark to teach you your place, then so be it!"

Fili had to watch helplessly as the caretaker brought down a sturdy rod across his brother's back for an infraction that had occurred five days ago. Though Fili had to admit, tying old rags to Saruman's crebain these last few weeks might not have been the best use of Kili's time, his anger still rose at such unjust treatment for something so harmless.  
The caretaker straightened, dropping the rod and smoothing down his thin, greasy hair. Ignoring Kili's whimpers, he retrieved the torch and delivered a solid kick to the beaten dwarf's ribs to get him up.

Though Fili watched helplessly, he did not watch hopelessly, for he had faith that the kind wizard who visited would treat his brother well. Straining to meet his brother's eyes as his sibling was prodded out of the room, he smiled slightly and willed Kili to be strong, being upstairs could be just as bad as sitting chained in the inky blackness below.

~

Gandalf had not stayed in his room long, he did not trust that the man responsible for the lash marks on the young dwarf would not hurt him again. The wizard had left his rooms with a sense of purpose, determined to search the whole tower, if need be. Blasted halls, they all looked alike. Gandalf continued in his pattern of opening each door he came to - one of them had to lead to someone who could tell him of the servant's whereabouts. Purposefully striding down yet another nondescript hall, he nearly crashed head over heels when he collided with a small figure scrubbing the floor.  
"Oh! My apologies!" he cried out good naturedly, "I have been looking for you everywhere Fili!"  
But even as he said it, Gandalf realized that Fili this was not, and though the dark haired dwarf that fearfully peered up at him looked infuriatingly familiar, he knew he had found the younger brother of his small friend.

Extending his hand to the soggy dwarf, and about to introduce himself and announce his intentions of friendship, he was rudely interrupted by a greasy voice that slithered through the air and into his ears like so many serpents of Morgoth. Gandalf suppressed a shudder as the voice dripped on.  
"Do not bother with him, my lord. I will see to it he is punished for disturbing you."  
Hand freezing mid-air, Gandalf spun to face the speaker, and found himself face to face with a rather pallid and pinched visage. The young man sneered, and his face became even less agreeable. Gandalf scowled. He did not remember this man from past visits, but then again, he had never before had cause to concern himself with inhabitants of the tower other than Saruman himself. Clearing his throat, he addressed the man, "I assume you are the caretaker."

The man nodded his head in a minute bow and made what appeared to be an attempt at a charming smile, but caused him to resemble a warg more than anything of human form. The caretaker opened his mouth to speak, but Gandalf cut him off before he could poison the air yet again.

"Since when has Saruman found it necessary to keep slaves?"

The caretaker was obviously taken aback, not expecting to be met with a reply so accusatory. He spread his waxen hands in a placating gesture and replied: "My lord, I have only supplied the tower with the inventory I have deemed necessary as the steward of this great stronghold. My lord Saruman has entrusted me with the keeping of his house, and these," he gestured towards Kili, who had not moved an inch, "….things are a necessity of keeping up the finer way of life to which he has become accustomed. I'm sure you understand," he finished, folding his hands smugly.

"I'm sure I do not!" Gandalf huffed. The caretaker appraised his road-worn robes with a disapproving leer.

"Maybe where you come from, such things are seen as barbaric, but here among the civilized and noble people, we accept such aspects of life with the grace and dignity for which we are known." Sweeping past an uncharacteristically stunned Gandalf, the unctuous caretaker caught the unfortunate dwarf servant by the hair and dragged him through a nearby door that seemed to appear from nowhere (as did every door in this accursed tower, as Gandalf had noted).

Snapping out of his near trance, Gandalf spun on his heel and rushed down the nearest stairway. Servant's quarters were generally lower, and he swore to himself with many flowery curses that this pasty worm of a man would not have the last say regarding the dwarves.

Upon reaching the ground floor, the wizard found himself in a kitchen, and the cook found himself in a state of shock.  
"Ah.…umm… sir?"   
Rather than respond, Gandalf began to sweep through the kitchen, moving various objects about in an urgent search. Wheeling upon the unfortunate cook, he bellowed,   
"WHERE HAVE YOU PUT THEM AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO THEM!"  
Staring up at the angry wizard, the man could only gulp and squeak out, "I don't know what you mean! I haven't done anything!"

As the frightening intruder continued to glare angrily down at him, the cook finally realized what he must mean.  
"Oh! You mean the two servants!"  
Gandalf leaned forward, and the cook wrung his flour-coated hands.  
"Master Grima is the only person what deals with them sir! I've never hurt them before, honest! I feed them when he's not lookin' and so does the stable keeper!" He fidgeted anxiously, little puffs of flour floating about him with each shudder. Seeing Gandalf's grim face turn hard with anger he nervously continued, "We don't even really need them here sir, there were good people who were paid to do their jobs before they arrived and I know they'd be happy to take up the work again!"

Gandalf nodded wordlessly. This anxious worker was telling the truth.

"Well then, good cook, where might this Grima be keeping them?"  
The man paled a bit, clearly not wanting to upset the caretaker, but something about the wild look in Gandalf's eyes told him he'd rather cross the caretaker.

"He keeps them down in the cellars," he nervously croaked, "But never both at once." Gandalf spun on his heel and sped off in the direction the worker had shakily pointed.


	13. An Impulse Purchase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf is not about to leave the boys at Isengard.

All named characters are owned by the Tolkien estate, the following is a non-canonical work of fiction, and does not profit me financially.

Every door. He had forced open every cellar door. Gandalf glared into the thick darkness of the subterranean levels of the tower. He wasn't about to go back upstairs, but he had run up against a literal wall. Banging his staff on the ground, he cast a dim light about the tunnels, and was pleasantly surprised to see a claustrophobic passage just past the last door.   
Knowing that this was the only remaining place to check, the wizard did not hesitate to go down the narrow way and soon his efforts were rewarded when he came to one last heavy cellar door. Placing his hand on the lock, he murmured an incantation, and light shone brightly around the metal before the door gave way and swung open with a grating creak. Stepping into the chamber carefully, he was greeted by a happy Fili, who was very much relieved to see it was his friend rather than the caretaker back so soon. Though he was not shocked at the dwarf's condition - chained, battered, and forgotten in the dark, Gandalf still boiled with anger.

"Did you find my brother, mister Gandalf sir?" Fili anxiously questioned as the wizard neared.

"We will soon find your brother again; I have met him, though briefly, and he was alive and well this morning at least," growled the wizard, reaching out and channeling his power to release the blond from the chains. When they fell away, Fili shot up and sprinted away, making for the stairs with Gandalf close at his heel. The young dwarf knew his way around the tower much better than the grey wizard, and he let Fili lead the way, the younger poking his head in at various doors along the way. 

After what felt like hours - but was closer to moments later - Gandalf found himself turning a corner to nearly collide with Fili, who had stopped abruptly. The reason for this was abundantly clear, they had found Kili and the caretaker.

"How DARE you speak to the guests, you do not speak!" the caretaker was hissing down into Kili's face as he violently shook the dwarf by his worn shirtfront. This had been going on awhile, as evidenced by Kili's bruised face, and the tears that streamed down his cheeks. Placing a reassuring hand on Fili's shaking shoulder, Gandalf brought his staff down on the stone floor in a thunderous CLAP.

"THAT WILL BE ENOUGH FROM YOU GRIMA!" The startled caretaker released Kili, who fell to the floor and cowered at his feet. The caretaker tried to form words in rebuttal, but was cut off.

"It appears you do not know how to manage an estate. I will be speaking with Saruman about your position in this household!" Motioning that the two dwarves should follow him, he stalked away to his rooms. Grima called out after him in a panic, "You needn't take it up with the wizard! He has no thought for what the steward of his house does! He only cares for his own work!"

Gandalf did not slow for this, and did not stop until he had the dwarves in the safety of his rooms. Turning from the door he slammed shut, he saw the two youths kneeling on the floor. Still a bit angry from his run-in with Grima, he barked out, "What are you doing?" eliciting a squeak from Kili, who slapped a hand over his mouth. Fili answered for the two of them, "Thank you for helping both of us sir, how can we thank you?"

Gandalf frowned, turning and pulling the pack of medicine from his travel bag and handing it down to Fili.   
"Stay here and help your brother, I would have a word with the master of these grounds."   
Whirling, he left them in search of Saruman, not willing that another moment should pass before the situation before them was resolved. 

When the door was firmly shut behind him, leaving the brothers alone, Kili looked anxiously at his older brother. Fili grinned back, eyes sparkling brightly.   
"He's really going to help us Kee!" Holding out the herbs to show his brother he continued, "Last night I thought I was in for it, but he bandaged me up and promised to help us!"

At this, Kili let out a relieved sob, and Fili set aside the kit to pull his little brother close for the first time since their arrival to the tower. They both cried until their tears were spent. Sniffling, Kili sat back to wipe his eyes.   
"We'd better do what mister Gandalf says, even if he is kind." Nodding, Fili turned and sorted through the numerous medicines, brow creasing in confusion before he found what Gandalf had used on him the night before. As he began to bandage his brother, they caught up on what had happened over the last few days and happily chattered away, grateful for the chance to speak to one another again.

 

~

In a far away chamber of the tower, no one was happy - or chattering. Gandalf paced in Saruman's study - where he had finally found his fellow wizard deep in ancient texts. In the time he had taken the dwarves to the safety of his chambers and traversed the winding halls in search of Saruman, Grima - that damnable worm - had skulked off to his master and told a very altered version of what had happened.

"My steward says you nearly beheaded him!" Saruman admonished, peering down his nose from his high seat. "He says he was merely going about his job as keeper of my estate. I know you to be somewhat…" he spread his hands with a slight smirk, "excitable."

Gandalf cursed the treacherous caretaker under his breath before he responded, "Your steward has gone behind your back Saruman! He would see this tower manned by an army of battered servants with himself as their leader. I fear he usurps your authority." He dashed a glare at Grima, who lurked in the shadows by the door.  
"And you of all people should know, old friend, that any 'excitability' I exhibit is merely in response to injustice."

Saruman quirked a brow and nodded. As much as Gandalf the Grey irritated him, his irritating sense of justice was generally correct. Casting a haughty gaze towards his steward, he was surprised when the man nervously cried out,   
"Master, I'm only doing my job! I've done what any spend-thrift steward would do to take care of-"

"How much did you pay for them?" Gandalf interrupted abruptly, "I will buy them from you."

Grima cast a wide-eyed glance up at Saruman, who stared back appraisingly. The grey wizard had trapped him. If he named an exorbitant number, then Gandalf would not be able to afford them, but then he risked the wrath of Saruman at his lies of frugality. Deciding that losing control of the two slaves was better than losing his head or position, his countenance fell and he ground out a ridiculously low sum.

"For a man who can barter like that, I'm surprised you need servants to help you!" Gandalf laughed, knowing full well what had gone through the steward's mind. Turning to Saruman, he bowed and gave his farewell, "You have been an excellent host as always, old friend. Though, if I were you, I would rid my house of such a poisonous tongue. Vipers do not make good comrades. I will see myself off." 

At Saruman's nod, Gandalf turned and strode to the door, halting before Grima's outstretched hand.   
Though he seldom chose to show it, Gandalf could be ridiculously petty, and he made a show of counting out the sum for the brothers in the smallest change he had. Holding out his hand to an expectant caretaker, he smirked before he flung the coins to the floor suddenly, forcing Grima to scramble after the bouncing pennies.   
Nodding a final farewell to the white wizard, who did nothing to hide a chuckle at his steward's misfortune, Gandalf headed back to his chambers to collect both his bags and his dwarves.


	14. Traveling Companions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short segue to the Shire

All named characters are owned by the Tolkien estate, the following is a non-canonical work of fiction, and does not profit me financially.

"Keep a weather eye, friend. At the first sign of trouble, I would take my family and go."

Gandalf slouched in his saddle, already road-weary. He hoped that the stable keeper of Isengard would heed the advice he had given upon their departure: to return with his family to Rohan as soon as it could safely be done. *That ingratiating steward will be the downfall of many, I am sure,* he thought darkly to himself.  
He had nearly lost himself to these troubled thoughts when he heard a THUMP from behind his back. With a start, Gandalf turned to see what had befallen his new companions, who apparently were having a difficult time staying atop their borrowed horse.

Kili looked up from the ground with the best puppy eyes in his repertoire.  
"I'm sorry master Gandalf! I'll try and stay on this time!"  
Gandalf chuckled a bit and reached down to pull the dwarf up to where his brother could help him. Neither of the servants quite knew what to expect from their new master, and once his brother sat with him again, Fili let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.

They had been riding most of the day, and though Gandalf was never one to complain at the prospect of some peace and quiet, the silence that hung over the three of them had become oppressive.  
"You know, you can speak." Gandalf finally called back.  
Fili and Kili weren't sure what he meant, nervously glancing at each other, Fili shrugged and decided that the wizard was asking for conversation.

"Where are we going, Master?"  
Gandalf harrumphed at the title and responded, "We've got a long road ahead of us, but we are headed to a place called the Shire. I think you'll both quite like it. And there's someone there I want you to meet."

Fili couldn't think of an appropriate response to this, so he nodded and fell quiet again. After a few moments, Kili blurted out, "Why did you buy us sir?" Immediately he thought better than to question their new master, "I mean, thank you sir, we'll work hard!"

Gandalf smirked at the lad's awkwardness. "Well asked, young Kili."  
Casting a glance back to see their reactions, he continued, "I've bought you as a gift for a good friend." Seeing both dwarves slump with expressions of woe, Gandalf finished, "I promise she'll treat you well. You'll find her quite fair, I think; I always have." Two braided heads nodded as miserably and unconvincingly as possible.

"We'll only be stopping in the Shire briefly, for the Lady Dis lives in the Blue Mountains." There were twin gasps and two THUMPS as both dwarves lost their balance.

 

~

Many miles down the road, Gandalf ruefully half-wished to himself that he had placed a limit on the talking allowed. Once the brothers had recovered from their initial shock, they had pestered him with questions about everything from the wellbeing of their mother to the Shire, to how he had known who they were - lucky guess and coincidence, though he would never admit to THAT, a wizard has to keep some sense of mystery about himself - to what his opinion was on keeping frogs as pets.

He was still trying to get the murky smell of frogs out of his hat. Though at first, the two had been quiet and well-behaved, they were young and they instigated each other to impishness. The two were making up for lost mischief, and as their sole companion Gandalf was the unfortunate focus of most of these harmless pranks.

Gandalf got along with the Durin brothers fairly well, and other than delivering a few well-deserved smacks to troublemaking backsides for a certain frog escapade, the trip had gone very smoothly.


	15. Reunited

All named characters are owned by the Tolkien estate, the following is a non-canonical work of fiction, and does not profit me financially.

It had been a long morning of garden work. At his repeated insistence, Bilbo had finally agreed to let Thorin do something productive around the house - although convincing Hamwise to let him help in the garden had taken their combined effort.   
He had just waved away the offer to join the hobbits for elevensies in favor of a moment alone outside.   
Chuckling to himself, Thorin wondered for the umpteenth time at how a person could eat so many times a day - though he could bring to mind more than a few dwarves who would probably feel right at home on such a diet. Turning his attention back to the rose bush that needed pruning, he wondered at how peaceful mornings like this could even exist - it felt real enough, but would it end like some lovely daydream?

The moments passed in a happy calm, the soft shire morning offering a chirp here, a buzz there. Thorin straightened to put his shears away and head inside to his friends - then he saw them.

That dratted wizard, rounding the slope of the hill, both horse and rider looking worse for wear. But that is not what caught his eye. It was the second horse, mane in haphazard braids, nostrils flared in a state of constant semi-panic, and its riders - the tumultuous mess of dwarfling that couldn't seem to hold still even for a second.

That dratted wizard.

Thorin's breath caught in his throat.

It couldn't be.

It had to be.

If it wasn't -

Thorin paled at their approach, his feet seemed carved of stone. Mahal Thorin, MOVE!

Tools and gardens and hobbits and wizards forgotten, he crashed straight ahead. He had to get to them before he woke up, before the dream was over and he awoke shackled in a deep pit. His legs seemed as if they were mired in honey, his head swam.

Skidding to a halt in front of the wizard, Thorin did not even see him there, so focused was his intent. As he grasped at words, at hope, at anything, it was the youngest who broke the spell.

 

~

Gandalf had warned Fili and Kili that they might be surprised at what they would find in the Shire, but though they had pestered him mercilessly, the wizard had not gone into any detail regarding his true meaning.   
As they had entered the lands of the little folk, everything had been agreeable in their eyes, and the calm beauty of the morning only served to make the countryside more magical.   
Nothing they had seen this far, however, had prepared them for what greeted them around the last corner.

"Mister Gandaaalf!" Kili bounced up and down, "Tell us more warrior-hobbit stories!"

"Yes mister Gandalf sir! Or tell the one about golf again!" chimed Fili excitedly.

Turning to face them wearily, Gandalf opened his mouth to say it was time for some peace and quiet, when came a hoarse shout and a CRASH!

Quieting immediately, the brothers shrank into each other and Gandalf whipped around in time to see Thorin stumble to a halt directly in front of them, fragments of foliage and fence in his hair and beard, a look of disbelief and anguish clear on his face.

Just as Fili began shaking with tears, Kili found his voice.

"…uncle?"

Thorin shattered.


	16. An End and a Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally finished! Thanks to anyone who stuck it out, hope it was diverting.

All named characters are owned by the Tolkien estate, the following is a non-canonical work of fiction, and does not profit me financially.

Bilbo wasn't sure how he felt. Huffing and puffing to himself, he bustled about the kitchen to put together what would probably be the first decent meal that the dwarflings in his garden could remember. As capable as Gandalf could be, Bilbo would never trust a wizard to know how to feed a person. Besides, after the events of the morning, he had to preoccupy himself with something he enjoyed or else he might just kill Thorin. He spared Gandalf a glare here and again, as the wizard hung about the kitchen.

Gandalf chuckled aloud, eliciting another dark look from the irritated hobbit.

"Bilbo, I had no way of knowing Thorin would run through the garden - "

"Run through the garden, run through the- GANDALF HE TORE THROUGH THREE OF MY MOTHER'S ROSEBUSHES, A HEDGE AND A FENCE!" Bilbo slammed a cheese down on the kitchen table, voice shrill.

"I'm certain, he will repair everything as well as he can." Gandalf countered, "And look at them Bilbo, no shrubbery is going to be keeping them apart for some time." Both hobbit and wizard turned their gazes out towards the scene of the crime.   
The garden was a state - to be sure. The trail of destruction wrought in the wake of Oakenshield panic was the new highlight of the garden, only outshone in the moment by the Durin family, who were currently taking up residence in the cabbage bed in a tangle of both limbs and dwarven emotion.

 

~

The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow that filled the kitchen and sparked on the dancing dust. Thorin blinked blearily from where he sat near the window, a sleeping nephew curled up under each arm. He could not believe his good fortune, his boys returned to him, with the help of a wizard no less. A sleeping Fili snuggled closer and Thorin awoke fully. Outside, he could hear Bilbo and Hamfast worrying about in the garden. Thorin sighed wistfully, and disentangled himself from the sleeping brothers. It was his mess to clear up. Pausing to glance back at Fili and Kili once more, he couldn't help but break into a stupid grin. *I have never been this happy.*

~

Night had fallen, and Hamfast waved a happy farewell from down the lane. Once they had all pitched in, the garden wasn't as bad as it had looked at first. Turning, Bilbo followed Thorin into his home, where a well-earned dinner was bubbling away.   
As much as he had wanted to be cross with the dwarf family this morning, Bilbo could harbor them no ill will now, and wondered at a person surviving such an ordeal. Being separated from your family and away from home, and - shuddering, Bilbo banished the thought as quickly as he could.   
*I am a Baggins of Bag-end, and that is what I will ever be! Don't worry yourself about monsters and dark paths Bilbo Baggins!* Nodding at the internal affirmation, he turned into the kitchen to take in the sight of a full dinner table and the flour dusted noses of two dwarves and a wizard.

"Don't worry mister baggens sir! We cleaned up after ourselves already!" piped Kili. Fili merely giggled and Gandalf continued to look offended at whatever caper had lead to his floured visage.   
Without ceremony, dinner was set upon immediately, and Bilbo found himself well-matched by his three voracious eating companions, dwarves eat well, apparently - and now that he remembered, Gandalf had mentioned he'd given the brothers his food on the journey back. 

*Wizards* Bilbo huffed, reaching out to snatch the last roasted potato.

 

~

Dishes had been cleared, and the small company had moved one by one to the small hearth, where a cheery fire skipped and danced, sending shadows to the walls. Bilbo was curled deep into his armchair, across from Thorin, who again was surrounded by a wreath of sleepy nephew. Travel and excitement had caught up with both of them and Fili and Kili were struggling to stay awake.

"What a sight we make," mused Gandalf aloud.

"But a good sight," Bilbo quickly added from his chair, "You are welcome, Mr. Oakenshield, to stay as long as you would like - I mean all of you of course." 

Thorin nodded gratefully before he spoke, "Thank you Bilbo, you have been a most gracious host, and a good friend."   
Here he stopped, clearing his throat and blinking rapidly.   
"And thank you, Gandalf," he dipped his head towards the grey wizard, "I can never repay either of you for what you have given back to me. To us." He pulled Fili and Kili closer.

"Yes mister Gandalf! You are the kindest and bestest wizard!" Fili spoke earnestly, followed quickly by Kili, who fervently thanked Bilbo for taking good care of their uncle.

A comfortable silence crept into the sleepy parlor for a while before Thorin spoke again.

"We are immeasurably grateful to be together again, but what has happened, it is difficult to remember. I know it is important to remember, but…" he struggled to find the words, "… is, is there any way you can make us forget, Gandalf?" Puppy dog eyes that could best Kili's any day gazed up at Gandalf in the fire's glow.

The wizard hummed.  
"That's not how magic works, Thorin."

Nodding dejectedly, Thorin looked down at his quiet nephews.

Gandalf squinted, "but it doesn't mean we can't try." Waving a dismissive hand to the inquiries that came from each, he promised, "I will do what I can. You will know more in the morning."

With that, they all went to bed, Bilbo to his room, and Thorin to his, two nephews sleepily following. Gandalf wracked his mind by the fire, by Aule, he would try all that he knew.

~

When he awoke with a start, an unfamiliar sight awaited him. Or - *at least it seems unfamiliar,* the wizard thought to himself. Gandalf straightened in his chair, looking about the small parlor, which seemed more fitting for shire-folk than a wizard such as himself. Rising cautiously, he began to take in all the room as the events of the previous night slowly trickled back into his mind, as if his memory was entrapped in slowly melting ice. 

Making his way around the room and back to his chair, he shook his head incredulously, eyes coming to gaze upon his hand and Narya. She was a good friend. "As is the lady of the wood!" he wondered aloud, and Gandalf was certain again that those who feared the witch of the deep forests did indeed have much to fear, as even his mind had been affected. Now, to see if the spell wrought had truly worked.

~

The door of Bilbo's room creaked open softly, hinges complaining at being awoken so early, and kindly eyes peered into the hobbit's room. A few soft steps later, Bilbo was gently shaken awake.

Bilbo seemed to be having strange dreams. First, he had turned into a tomato, and then his poor garden was destroyed, strangers were eating all his food, and now, a grey giant was about to eat him! Bilbo shrieked aloud and swooned into a merciful black sleep.

Gandalf nodded, the power of the white lady was not to be mocked. He tucked in the stupefied hobbit, no doubt he would not remember any of this - a shame really - and quietly left to collect his dwarves. 

Thirty or so minutes later, Gandalf balanced a dwarfling in front of him as he lead the second burdened horse away from Bag-End. A thick white mist had descended on the whole of the Shire, and lent the early morning an eerie haze.

Casting back a fond glance towards the cheery home, Gandalf decided he must visit the little halfling again, on a brighter morning when he was awake perhaps. The fellow had been most agreeable and people quite like him are not often come by. Yes, he would be back. Turning to face the road to the mountains ahead, the wizard adjusted his blue hat and began to quietly hum a riding song to himself - he had dwarves to deliver.

 

~

"It is still a good morning, Bilbo Baggins, you have more cups." Bilbo reassured himself, staring down at the shattered remnants of his morning tea unhappily. Beautiful mornings and good tea go hand in hand - not hand in elbow, something he was reminded of rather jarringly just a moment ago.

Sighing, Bilbo pried open his mother's hutch to get a second cup - his new favorite. The door popped open and a puff of - is that flour? - burst out into the kitchen. Bilbo kept finding flour in the nooks and crannies of his kitchen. Blast it all, where did it even come from?

A few minutes later, armed with a second cup of tea and his favorite pipe Bilbo decided the morning was better spent outside - for as mornings go, this day was perfect. The sun was warming his toes as he sat on the bench by the door and his tea was just losing its steam when a rattle at his front gate stirred him from blissful reverie.

"Good morning!" called out the old man jovially, for an old man at the gate it was.

"Good-good morning!" Bilbo hesitated only slightly. It was indeed a good morning, and he was feeling good, all but for the nagging sensation that he somehow knew this stranger.

"How do you feel," the grey figure continued, "about adventures?"


End file.
